Supplemental Entry: We are now an hour under sail, catching the Stormwall wind headed directly west. A curious addition must be mentioned. Mr. Vrey arrived at the pier just before we were about to set sail. He had a manservant in tow, a plebian of the lower classes who had obviously suffered grave misfortune during the recent troubles. Acting-Governor Vrey was sweating, and seemed to be under intense distress, highly at odds with his recent satisfied attitude. The manservant held a small chest made of expensive woods, such as those used to store fine jewelry.
The Acting-Governor insisted that I take the chest and its contents as additional restitution. Our holds already loaded, I assured him that the treasure already given over would suffice. Vrey would not be appeased however, until we had taken the box. He then departed posthaste.
Within, my officers and I discovered a single, massive gemstone. It is quite unlike any I have ever seen, big as two fists and rough-cut of some luminous material. It is capable of lighting a darkened room as well as any lantern and shines brilliantly. The stone is a fortune by itself.
I wonder now at Acting-Governor Vrey's insistence. He could have easily kept the gem, with us none the wiser. Most curiously, I recall now that Vrey was very careful to never handle the box directly himself. How odd.
"So that's that," said Fengel. He paused to sip his wine. "I hope we get to the meat of the matter shortly?"
"Keep reading," said Lucian.
Fengel bent back over the tome.
Twenty-sixth of Marchwater. Eighth bell. Poor weather has assailed us since leaving the Colony. The winds have carried us south along the coast and show no sign of relenting. My officers are flummoxed, and insist on fighting the weather to continue bearing west. While we've enough coal on board to work the paddlewheels, I have had another idea. We will go with the winds until we are south of the Copper Isles' latitudinal. By then the weather should let up, and we can sail west without depleting our stores excessively. On another note, I have had Vrey's gemstone, the 'Lantern,' brought up to me. I must admit that it is a fascinating specimen, and I am quite taken by it.
Twenty-seventh of Marchwater. Second bell. Crew unhappy. Apparently a rumor has spread amongst the seamen from their time on the Colony. The Lantern is apparently somewhat infamous (unsurprising), and rumor holds that it is cursed. I will not have such superstition aboard my ship, and have ordered any man caught speaking of such matters flogged. On another note, Mr. Marley is becoming rather agitated about our course. I reminded him of his need to trust me. I do hope he is not becoming unreliable. It would be a shame for him to cut his promising career short.
Twenty-eighth. Marchwater. Lantern a fascinating piece of gemology. I do not have the tools to verify, but I rather suspect that it is singing to me. Could it be a Worked jewel? That would be something out of a storybook, almost. But not unheard of. Have decided that I shall keep it for myself. His Majesty will neither know nor care; I have stricken it from the audit, and arranged to have the common men who know of it flogged for insubordination concerning these crass rumors spreading about the ship.
Twenty-ninth. Have had abrupt discussion with Marley. Have apparently missed our bearing to turn west. Unimportant.
First of Highwing. Third bell? Fourth? Storm last night. As well as attempted mutiny. Marley led them against me. After all I'd done for him. Things were not going well, when we ran suddenly aground on some rocks just off the coast. Stormwall high above. Temporary truce. Taking command. Keeping Lantern on self at all times; they want to take it from me.
Third of Highwing. Ship has come to rest again, past the Stormwall and up the river. Had Marley and his mutineers killed after rescuing the ship. Handful left. No matter. I have had an epiphany. The Lantern does sing. It calls to me, and is on the very verge of revealing a wondrous secret. But not yet, not yet. It needs to go home. Then it may speak.
Fourth of Highwing. Crew morale low. Fires spied in the night, in the jungle beyond. Sent some scouts; they did not return. Hear drums. See eyes in the jungle. Not human.
Fifth of Highwing. They are coming. The Lantern must go home. The men struggle. It is of no import. The Keepers are here for me, for the Lantern. To bring it home. Home to their worship-fires. Home to the Tomb of the Voorn.
Their leader is before me now. He holds out his hand. I must carry the Lantern home, to Old Yrinium.
The account ended abruptly, but not, as Fengel had suspected it would, with a dramatic splash of blood or ink. He leaned back in his chair, sipping from his glass.
"Well," said Henry. "That puts paid to that. The thing is cursed. Good riddance to it."
"What a tale," said Lucian. "We're better off without it."